Hunter
by ravarath
Summary: The Doctor ponders over the Bad Wolf and how it has defined him. Companion piece to "Bad Wolf."


_**A/n: My one-shot "Bad Wolf" was written from Rose's point of view, but in doing so, I wasn't able to incorporate some of the fairy tale elements I'd wanted to mention. I also wanted to explore the topic from the Doctor's POV.**_

_**"Bad Wolf" had sort of a fluffy ending, but this piece is much more angst-laden. This is actually the second version; I originally wrote this from the metacrisis Doctor's POV but scrapped it completely and started afresh with the Eleventh.**_

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The Doctor's hand hovered over the door knob, hesitating. It had been some time since he'd entered this room, and he wasn't quite sure what compelled him to do so this night. Perhaps it was a result of the distinct feeling of melancholy that had gripped him since they lost Rory. Perhaps it was just the deep-rooted grief he knew so well. Amy had gone to bed hours ago, blissfully ignorant of the fact that a person named Rory had ever been in her life. The Doctor did not have such luxuries.

He turned the knob, pushing open the door with a shaky exhalation of breath. His eyes drifted close as he stepped inside. The door snapped quietly shut behind him.

Warm air tinged with floral notes from traces of perfume tickled at his nostrils. It was faint, but the scent ignited a firestorm of memories within him. It was fragrant in a sweet yet earthy way, far more nuanced and sophisticated than any human-made perfume. He ought to know: the Doctor had been the one who bought it for her.

Caelum VI was a planet renowned for two things: its gardens and its perfumes. Quite by coincidence, it was also the only other place in the galaxy besides Earth where roses could be found growing. She'd laughed, calling him cheesy. But her eyes had sparkled with delight, and he'd had to make a return trip so she could stock up on more of the rose-scented perfume.

With a sigh, the Doctor opened his eyes. The room was softly lit and exactly as he remembered it. Makeup and accessories littered the vanity. The bed was unmade and clothes were tossed carelessly on top of it. The closet door was ajar, nearly overflowing with blouses, jeans, t-shirts, hoodies, and other garments. Perfectly preserved, as if Rose Tyler had only just popped out for something.

Waiting for an occupant who would never return.

For just a moment, he allowed himself to remember, to let memories of Rose's voice and touch drift to the forefront of his thoughts. These ought to have been wonderful recollections, but losing her had tinged each and every single one with a terrible sadness. But he let the pain resurface, let it gnaw at his hearts uninterrupted. This bloodless agony was excruciating, but the Doctor felt as though it was necessary. He'd been too trusting, too confident...and people had died. People had been lost.

It was his fault, and he deserved this pain.

It was then that he missed Rose terribly: she'd had that rare ability to make even the direst and darkest of situations just that much brighter. Even on an impossible planet, confronted by the Devil himself, she'd reassured him, kept him hopeful. Even as a honest-to-god werewolf chased them down, she kept him smiling.

Carefully, the Doctor sat down upon the bed. A bright red jacket hanging half off the comforter caught his eye, and he picked it up. The fabric was soft in his fingers, and it looked awfully familiar. He couldn't quite place it though. At least, not until it flipped it over and saw the words printed jaggedly on the back: punky fish.

The last time he'd seen this, she had been glowing, shimmering with power and glory and omnipotence. She'd become the Bad Wolf, held the Time Vortex within her long enough to destroy a Dalek fleet and give life and save him.

Since that fateful day, the Doctor had turned those two simple words over and over in his head. It was an all-knowing, all-powerful entity. It had pushed him and Rose down their timeline like a master playing chess. But what did Bad Wolf mean? Rose had thought it was sign of great danger, great sacrifice. But the Doctor knew it wasn't as simple as that.

He'd researched it at length once, shortly after losing her to the parallel universe. It was out of a faint but desperate hope: Bad Wolf had brought her back to him, once upon a time. Perhaps it could have done so again.

He'd immersed himself in literature, trying to understand. But there was no solution, no miraculous aid. Only a story, a tale that haunted him still. Understanding it was a double-edged sword: the answers satisfied his thirst for knowledge but simultaneously cut his hope into pieces.

Bad Wolf was strength and might and force unstoppable. Rose had gone willingly into its embrace, both held it and allowed it to hold her. But it a wild force, as untamed and savage as any wolf. To join with it was to merge with something greater than any ordinary mortal: it was a moment of transcendence, a glimpse into god-like power. But like a wolf, it was hungry. It would consume, it would devour without regard to love or hate.

But what did that make him? He, the man who'd drawn that terrible energy from her body like the hunter had drawn Little Red Riding Hood from the belly of the wolf? Was he a hunter at heart, not a doctor? Was he a savior? Or was he living at the expense of others? It was a frightening line of thought: the big bad wolf had been strong, but it was the hunter who had conquered it.

Did he make people better? Or did he just proverbially gut the men and women who walked into his TARDIS and take from them their innocence.

He thought of Rory, lost into time itself and forgotten by everyone but the Doctor. He thought of Donna, so brave and noble like her name, stripped of stars and time. He thought of Martha, living forever with the memory of a long year that never was.

And he thought of Rose, his precious Rose. She'd saved his life, made him better. In return, he'd trapped her in a parallel world that was never quite home.

The Doctor got to his feet, rubbing wearily at his eyes.

Perhaps he was the one who was trapped.


End file.
